Archive of Our Own

"What? Yeah, I've sleepwalked before. I mean- it's not that weird, when you really think about it. You'd have sleepwalked too if you'd tried to stay up for 5 days straight!"

Ford hadn't been able to get the words out of his head since his brother had uttered them.

They nagged away, seeped in when he least suspected them, to catch inside his head. That strange sense of dread that made his stomach lurch, a memory or a notion just on the tip of his tongue, lurking in the dark recesses of his mind as if there was something there- something more than what had actually been said.

Or maybe it was everything that had been said in a way, all the things that his brain had tried desperately not to acknowledge at the time.

Because acknowledging those thoughts made them real. Acknowledging and thinking about it- really thinking about it- could have made it far bigger than either him or Stan could ever hope to deal with.

So instead he tried not to think about it at all.

It was nothing. Nothing to worry about, nothing to dwell on. Paranoia after everything that had happened to them rearing its ugly head when it really wasn't necessary.

That's what he tried to tell himself at least.

And sometimes it worked. Sometimes- when the sun streamed through the windows and the kids ran circles around them, he could tell himself that it really was nothing. Just like Stan had insisted. He could reason with himself that it was just the context of the words as they'd been given to him that had alarmed him. It was the thoughts of what Stan must have gone through trying to find him, the knowledge of what had been waiting for him out there when he didn't even truly know the dangers- the costs of it all that had made the conversation seem more poignant than it needed to be. It was all of that, that had caused him to doubt that everything was as it seemed. Had left his brain in this fluctuating state of what if... 

But in the stark warmth of daylight, with his brother grinning beside him, safe and sound and whole, he could dismiss those thoughts for what they truly were. He was concerned that was all, worried just how much searching for him, for all those years, had taken its toll on his brother. Worried just how far he'd gone, how hard he'd pushed himself. What limits he had broken, and which others he had outright ignored until the strings had snapped and the world given way beneath him. That was all those troublesome thoughts were. Concern. Worry. Guilt. And every second Stan laughed, every moment he let the twins drag him around wherever they wanted with nothing more than a teasing groan, those thoughts grew more and more distant. Less and less important.

It was in the past, it could stay there now. They had the present, and a long, long future ahead of them to look forward to now.

And so with his family by his side, he could let himself be whisked away into the thick of it all, where there were adventures to be had and stories to be told. There was no time for doubtful, troublesome thoughts with them around, no moment to think with all the stimulation that life captivated him with. After all, it was hard to be anxious amidst all of the colours and warmth that had been sapped from him for so long.

That is until the next time he was alone.

When the words found form once more, creaking and groaning out of the woodwork. When they seeped, slimy and cold, through the windowpane and under the crack in the door.

It was a lot harder to ignore his own thoughts when they were the only voice present. When the house slowly became hushed, the chatter of the twins growing lower and lower until it abruptly stopped altogether, the soft shuffling of feet padding into the distance. When the last doors closed with a finality that made his heart sink and somehow lodge in his throat all at once.

It was a lot harder to convince himself that there was nothing wrong, when the dark slowly crept in around him. When that unwelcome guest slunk across the room to the faint reading light beside his bed and doused all but a flimsy, cold circle around him. When the last light beneath his door clicked out and left him stranded in the gloom, desperately clinging on to the hope that his little lamp would weather the storm with him.

It should have been peaceful, tranquil even. That moment of peace after a long day of fun. If he listened closely enough he could almost hear the water crashing against the beach, the sea breeze rushing alongside it, just like he'd always imagined as he drifted off to sleep all those years ago...

...He couldn't begin to describe how much the thought now made his skin crawl. How the thought of the sea lapping at this particular beach set his teeth on edge and a shiver down his spine.

It was too quiet. Too dark. Too much.

He hated it. Hated when the darkness took on shapes, how his eyes adjusted just enough, but not enough all at once, creating shifting shadows that played with his senses until he gave in and turned the overhead light on. Hated that it became silent enough for him to think, silent enough for his thoughts to be far too loud inside his own skull and no amount of reading or distractions could break through the buzz that they inflicted on him.

He hated that after all this time, he couldn't just sleep. 

And now his mind had something new to fixate on.

And, oh, how he hated that most of all.

When night fell, the thoughts, the words Stan had uttered would bubble back to the surface, thick and smothering, sticking to him like tar and refusing to be swayed with logical trains of thought. Each attempt would be swiftly trampled by a swell of fear, a babbling brook of 'what if- what if- what if-'. A cold, harsh breeze slid across his skin, goosebumps rising along its path and wracking him with shivers even as he wrapped himself up in the copious blankets Mabel had given him, until the wind found its mark and whispered insidiously in his ear. There was always just enough- just enough shadows and whispers, doubts and questions, to keep him on edge, to amplify every spark of flitting energy that rattled through his skull, until there was a cacophony of sound that refused to be silenced and an exhausted mind that refused to rest.

In the light of day, all the anxious fear seemed so far away. It all seemed so childish.

But in the dark, no amount of logic or ridicule seemed to dissipate the underlying nausea that something was terribly wrong, that something would go wrong if he wasn't watchful, wasn't careful. The unease and anxiety kept mounting as the quiet darkness took hold. The words clung to him like a mantle, steadfast and resolute, kept him twisting and turning as he tried to sleep, until finally he would give up, give in and get out of bed to prove the words wrong.

He had to prove them wrong. There was no two ways about it. Time and time again. Night after night.

He couldn't sleep until he had.

Except, tonight... he couldn't find him.

"Stan?" Ford glanced around yet another empty room, every silent disappointment another nick to his already fraying nerves. The voices grew louder in the hush, a buzz of energy just at his ear that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and set his entire being taut with worry and a fizzling fear that could not be dissuaded. The sun had long since set, the only light the faint dismal glow from the hallway light behind him, casting shadow before him as he moved. He wasn't sure why he didn't just turn the lights on as he went, hands both itching to and staying tightly glued to his sides. He couldn't seem to bring himself to do it, even when every exhibit, every curtain, twisted and turned into monstrous forms whenever he caught them out of the corner of his eye. Even when flashes of phantom movement darted across his retinas into the shadowed corners of the room whenever the anxiety got the better of him and he spun himself round in a sudden burst of energy.

There was nothing ever there though, not when he steadied his breathing and lowered his arms. Not when he truly assessed the situation and saw the twisted shapes for what they actually were - the tree's shadow he thought for a second was a claw coming towards him, the sleeve hanging on the door that moved in the wind just enough to catch his eye and make him flinch back.

The urge to turn on the light grew as he stood there, staring at the switch from across the room. It would only take a few steps. He knew that. And yet he still hesitated, his mind betraying him once more as the shadows drew ever closer. Tangible and seething they slunk behind him, a snapping, snarling mass that grew and grew, as he became locked in place, hardly able to even breathe. He could feel them as they began to climb up him, their tendrils trapping him even further as they crept up his back and slipped ice cold across his shoulders. 

A deep, ominous chuckle sounded close to his ear, a shudder wracking through him as icy breath puffed across his neck.

The heavy darkness on his shoulders moved, pushing forward. The cold breeze of breath vanished from behind him, giving him a small moment of reprieve, only to reappear on the side of his face. His breath hitched again as it grew closer and closer, the phantom feeling of sharp yellow teeth glinting through his memories-

His eyes snapped shut in a moment of blind panic. He didn't want to see them, not again. He didn't want to see those burning yellow eyes, the lights that glowed from the depths but dragged you down into the darkness with them, down to where there was no escape...

It's not real, it's not real, it's not real-

But what if it is? She always told you they were real. You know they are real.
What if the monsters don't disappear when you turn on the light?

"T-this is ridiculous." Ford took a few steady deep breaths and opened his eyes, a deep scowl marring his features as he forced past the irrational fear that had gripped him. The sudden, almost hysterical thoughts grounded him in a moment of clarity at just how absurd they were, just how absurd he was acting. His body grew abruptly lighter, the weight lifting from his shoulders as he felt his body relax, pushing back the shadows for what they really were- an overactive imagination in the middle of the night. 

They'd won, the creature couldn't get to him anymore. He didn't need to fear it. In fact, the small bubble of panicked thoughts had reminded him of that.

His mother had told him that monsters existed, yes, but she'd also taught him never to let his fear of them stop him.

"Just find Stanley. That's all you need to do. Find Stan and realise that nothing's wrong and everything is fine and go back to bed." Ford gave a full body shake, the looming feeling of something standing close behind him crashing to the ground in a wave of nothingness. A sigh of relief echoed out of him along with the notion, past the flutter of frustration that was embedded in his chest at having stopped his search for a silly moment of panic.

At least the frustration would drive him onward.

"Stan?" The word echoed out into the otherwise silent corridor again, smothered and distorted as if the house wished to remain at peace. But Ford would not be deterred, another spark of irritation blooming, as he yet again received no reply. "For the love of- Wherever you are, and whatever you're doing, you better be ready. There is no possible reason you should be up this late." Ford grumbled out heatedly, counteracting the cold that had trailed behind him as he moved from room to room, finding himself back in the dimly lit hallway. His eyes glanced this way and that as he made short work of the stairs, ever watchful now for any hint of his brother instead of what else may lurk in the gloom with them. "Scaring me like this for no good reason-" He cut off the words as he stepped onto the landing, trying to ignore the way his heart was thumping against his ribs, how it had lurched as he took the final step, eyes trained on the door before him. He could be completely wrong, after all. It could just be his own paranoia that was scaring him, not Stan, but either way he couldn't help but talk, the words practically falling out of him in the hopes they would keep the darkness at bay.

It really didn't help that Stan wasn't there to dissuade the wayward thoughts. Wasn't there to prove him right or prove him wrong or anything in between, letting the whispered 'but what if- what if- what if-' s run amok inside his head.

If he had just been where he had left him when he went to bed, then Ford could have returned to his sleep without a worry. After all, Stan had already been asleep, curled up in front of the TV so peacefully that Ford hadn't had the heart to wake him. Instead he'd draped a few blankets over him, tucked a pillow under his head as carefully as he could and retired for the night.

But then something had set the ball rolling, set his heart racing and he hadn't been able to stay there, not without checking on his brother one more time before he could finally sleep himself.

And instead of finding his serenely sleeping brother, he had found empty, cold blankets haphazardly strewn across the living room floor without a care.

He'd entered a haze after that, multiple voices echoing through his head, creating a blanket of fear that wrapped around him, an ice cold mist, thick and cloying, that spread through his brain. The cacophony of muffled buzzing took over his senses as he blindly tried to locate his brother. He knew he'd been in the kitchen at some point, a wayward thought that his brother had just gone to get a drink connecting to his feet, but he didn't remember the walk there, his feet somehow only half connected to his brain, moving in the right direction even before the idea seemed to have fully formed and processed in his head. He had found himself knocking on the bathroom door to no avail, then inside the museum exhibits in case Stan was irrationally doing some touch up work that he'd forgotten to do earlier in the day, not something particularly unusual when it came to his brother's questionable sleeping habits. But every time his theory had been wrong, and every time he couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten to his latest destination, only that he knew he hadn't seen his brother along the way because all of his focus was on where to look next.

The latest whispering voice had led him here.

What if he just went back to sleep?

It was true, all his irritation at his brother's sleeping habits could be for nothing. He could laugh in a minute at himself and his twisted thoughts when this was all over and done with and he had found his brother safe and sound in bed. The hope had led him here, somehow up the steps and outside his brother's door in the blink of an eye, quietly proud of himself that he hadn't hit any of the creaky floorboards in the dismal gloom on his way.

Wait-

The world slowed to a crawl, doubts oozing and bubbling from the cracks in his mind as he stood there in the darkness. His hand was outstretched, slowly edging forward towards the handle even as his mind raced. Something was wrong, nothing was adding up like it should. It didn't make sense. There was something he was missing, some fundamental clue, but no matter how much he thought he couldn't seem to figure out what.

All he knew was that a pit had formed in his stomach, the world opening up at his feet to greet him as he felt air rush past his ears, a loud ringing overtaking all thought as his stomach sunk in a sudden lurch of movement-

And then, just as abruptly, it all stopped.

He was still stood outside the door, a gaping black hole that daunted and unnerved him.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong-

He didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to find whatever was on the other side. The foghorns rang clear as day through his skull and drove the haze that had descended on him away, and suddenly he knew. He didn't know how, nor did he care, but he still knew all the same that this was not where he was supposed to be and if he were to open the door he wouldn't be able to go back, wouldn't be able to unsee whatever he saw-

And yet he couldn't seem to stop his hand from creeping forward, pulled on by morbid curiosity.

No. Something's wrong. I don't want to- I can't do this. No.
I don't want to see, I don't want to know. Just this once I don't want to know-
Wait.

Ford's breath caught in his throat, his thoughts derailing as his eyes darted this way and that across the corridor, anything to escape when his body refused to do as his brain commanded, far too curious for his own good. It screamed that he had to know even as he shied away from it.

But none of that mattered in that second, as his thoughts snapped into place, the solid wall of darkness at the end of the corridor making his heart stutter.

When did I turn out the light?

The steadfast light of the hallway flicked on behind his eyes, superimposing on the view around him before vanishing along with the light once more. Before he could think on it more, try to fathom through the shifting sands that were his fleeting memories of the last few- had it been minutes? hours? what time is it? - and figure out when the light had gone out, his hand caught, his attention dragged away as wood gave beneath his palm.

His eyes snapped down as burning cold metal bit into his palm, the gaping hole that had been Stan's bedroom door swinging open without resistance. All thoughts on the light drained out of him, his hand reaching for the door frame as he pushed himself forward, past the fear, past the nerves, past the looming doubts and suffocating hesitation before it could impede him further.

None of it mattered, nothing mattered other than making sure that he was wrong and Stan was safe and asleep, nothing else mattered other than proving his worries were completely and utterly baseless-

A wave of cold air flooded over him as the door hit the wall with a loud thud, leaving him suddenly breathless with it's intensity, dread crystallising throughout his lungs. The room was bathed in silver, the moon's glow filtering through the open window, the curtains billowing inwards with the wind and obscuring his vision in blinks of blackness.

It didn't matter though, he still had seen all he needed to see.

The room was devoid of life, the bed untouched.

He was almost sure there was a layer of dust across every surface, no marks, no smears, just a blank canvas of nothingness.

No. No, that doesn't make sense. We live here- He lives here. This is his home, his room, there shouldn't be this much dust.

Ford winced, the moonlight somehow painfully bright against the perpetual darkness of the other rooms. Though its glow was not much better. A cold mockery of what he had hoped for, lifeless and bitter, so unlike the sunny days he yearned for and kept him afloat. 

The feeling from before billowed up again, thunder crackling as the storm clouds re-emerged.

The monsters hadn't vanished with the light. He couldn't see them but he could feel them, shifting under the bed, creaking in every cupboard.

Tapping at the window whenever the curtains barred his vision.

Still there, still waiting for him. Always, always waiting for him-

No. No- this isn't- We beat it! We beat back the darkness-

Stan was still missing.

He's just- He's fine. I'm sure he's- I just need to find him. Everything will be OK when I find him. Everything is fine- it's all in your head-

Every hopeful thought brought a wave of crashing doubtful voices to knock down the walls he was trying to build up. Every new theory smashed instantly, every optimistic notion crumbled to dust at the realisation that his fears were proving more and more correct with every avenue he tried.

It was almost better in the dark, at least in the dark he could pretend. At least in the dark there was a chance he was missing things- clues, signs, anything at all.

In the light, all he saw was just how fruitless his task was, how much time he was wasting looking in the wrong direction.

He didn't know what to do.

"What? Yeah, I've sleepwalked before. I mean- it's not that weird, when you really think about it..."

Think. Think. There's something I'm missing, a piece of the puzzle- I just need to think!

"Besides, as I said, it's not that big a deal. I'm only saying it now because we'll be in close quarters soon on the boat and all. I mean, the kids have never even noticed! And it only really happened when I pushed myself to keep working and ended up crashing..."

It was there, so close, on the edge of his vision, the edge of his tongue. There was something just at his peripheral that wasn't sinking in enough for him to comprehend and he could practically feel time slipping away from him, could hear the clock ticking towards an end he had no intention of greeting.

What if it- No. It can't have. That thing doesn't have anything to do with this.
But what if...

A venomous yellow eye gleamed behind his eyelids as he blinked, staining his retinas wherever he looked. He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel the image and the notion that came with it. It couldn't have anything to do with this- it just couldn't. They had beaten it. They had won. It couldn't get to them- not physically at least.

But...

Ford swallowed. That was the very nature of the creature after all, a fear that refused to be swayed, a creature that had no need to be near for its effects to be felt. It had always been that way, an insidious being that had lured him in, that had slipped through his dreams, called to him and made him so curious about that area of the bay.

They had beaten it, yes, brought him back and left it there in it's prison, but that was all.

It still sang from the abyss, still hissed and snarled, waiting for the moment when someone or something would free it from it's chains.

They were trying hard to make sure that never happened, that never again would it even have the chance to try. But it's voice still rang through. Ford knew Stan heard it from time to time, no matter how hard he tried to brush it off and pretend otherwise. Was it just trying to torment him? Punishing him? Or was it trying to find an opening? Trying to find a crack that it could break through?

Stan would never let it, he knew that, deep to his core. No matter what, Stan would never.

But what if-

But what if...

"...Come to think of it, I think I've only ever sleepwalked in the lighthouse."

The words rang through the enclosed area, the small hum of thoughtfulness that accompanied them, the soft huff, a lack of concern at his own words, as if his brother was stood right there beside him, uttering them as he had not that long ago. The words faded into the ether once more, and his eyes widened in fearful apprehension, just as a loud crack of wood against wood reverberated behind him.

He spun quickly, the front door visible and open from his place near the top of the stairs. It clattered loudly against the wall, thudding back and forth with every new gust of wind that whirled through.

He shivered, his feet already on the stairs as the world outside the house grew bright with a metallic click, a dangerous orange beacon drawing him forward with every step.

Wait- why wasn't the door locked? The wind can't have- He would have locked it- He couldn't have opened it- not if he was asleep-

No time. He's at the lighthouse. Got to get to the lighthouse.

The sudden influx of questions faded to a buzz as his last thought rang true. It didn't matter what had happened or how it had happened, in fact the strange sequence of events had been a blessing in disguise, adding conviction to the words running through his head, Stan's words reverberating through the clattering wood and howling winds as he strode out to greet them.

He knew he was on the right track this time. He knew where Stan was.

This time I'm right- this time-
How much time do I have?

Ice burned through his throat and nose, puffing out in heaves of misted fear as he found himself running, creaking wooden floorboards shifting to scattering stones, the gravel path crunching and churning with every careless footfall. His eyes streamed at the prickling winds, arms raised defensively around his head as heated tracks flowing down his cheeks. He blearily tried to keep sight of the blurring lantern light, tried to lock onto the door that sat before him, swimming in and out of focus with every blink of an eye.

Lighthouse. Got to get to the lighthouse. He's there- How long has he been up there?
Wait? Was that a shadow?

A desperate noise escaped him, warped and strangled by the howling winds that tore it from his lips. The light had been obscured for a moment, a figure walking around the room, only visible for a brief glimpse before the light went back to normal.

It's him! He's there! I'm right.

There was a pang of relief, of all encompassing solace that he had finally found him, but it was still clouded by the other fears, the horrors that would not be dispelled.

Was it his brother up there alone? Or was there something more to it?

Stan promised. He promised he'd let me know if he was going to the lighthouse.
So why didn't he?

Ford found himself staring at the light, waiting for a sign. A shadow- a figure that he could discern more thoroughly. His pulse ticked inside his ear, a beat that reverberated through his rib cage, precious time slipping away from him with every wasted moment. He dragged his eyes away, the light a flickering triangle wherever he looked, blinding him from his goal. But all it did was spurn him on, the gravel beneath his feet would be his guide if he could not see, he would push through any storm the world threw at him- even if it was just to yell at his startled brother for breaking his promise.

He had to keep that notion, that hope close to his chest. That grating anger, full of relief, and full of fear that made him bristle from somewhere deep inside his core. He had to keep hold of it, had to hope so desperately that that was all that was happening. That his brother was up there of his own volition, for whatever reckless, absolutely senseless reason that was-

But why would he turn on the light?

Ford swallowed as the fire dimmed, a cold tendril sneaking around his heart to tug the heated anger away.

He knows what will happen. He knows what could happen- he wouldn't. He just wouldn't. He's been working tirelessly to make sure it never happens again so why would he-

His feet hit solid stone, the slap of his shoes against the steps dragging him back from his thoughts again. All he had to do was get up there. Then he'd know. He'd find Stan and Stan would explain. It was all a misunderstanding, it had to be. Maybe something had gone wrong, maybe he'd find his brother in a similar panic and be able to help.

Whatever it was- they could fix it. He was sure of that.

They'd beaten the creature once, they would do it again.

He stumbled on the steps in his haste, hand sliding on the wall as he pushed himself up, and continued to move as if there had never been a setback. He propelled himself forward, not caring how he looked or how it sounded. All that mattered was that he got upstairs as fast as he could. The sands of time scattered down the steps behind him, trickling away from him with every moment he wasted and thudding through his ears in a beat of too late, too late-

He wouldn't allow it. Not when he was so close. Even if it was the creature, even if it had somehow compelled Stan to come up here- he could stop it, he could fix it.

He had to be able to fix it.

He clattered through the doorway at the top of the stairs, the office beyond in more disarray than he'd ever seen it before. He didn't have time to give it more than a cursory glance however, his journey taking him up the clanging metal steps and into the lantern room with the smallest of hesitations. 

"Stan?" 

The name was out of his mouth before he had even registered it, bubbling up from the depths of his fear with every panting breath.

The silence greeted him once more. 

Ford swallowed, trying to breathe past the lump in his throat as he shuffled through the small room. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. He'd seen someone up here- he'd seen Stan up here, he had to be somewhere-

His eyes caught on his brother's back, illuminated by the light, leaning against the railing of the balcony outside.

A shaky breath escaped him, relief once more burning a track through him that turned his legs to jelly, hollowing him out suddenly as the clawing, vengeful thoughts dissipated abruptly. Stan was there. Stan was OK. 

What's he doing though?

"Stan?"

His brother didn't respond.

He swallowed again, the tense air remaining. There was nothing there though. No monsters, no darkness. Just him and his brother in the quiet of the old lighthouse. It felt familiar, and wrong all at once, off kilter by just enough of a degree to keep him on edge, waiting for whatever happened next with bated breath.

All because Stan was standing only a few feet away and ignoring him. All because he was leaning forward over the balcony railing as if there was something far more interesting going on down below than his panicked brother behind him.

All because that reaction was so decidedly not Stan, that his mind couldn't grasp it, uneasiness flickering in his core as he stared at his brothers back.

"Stan, what's going on-"

And then it hit him.

The words caught in his mouth, his eyes widening as his body quaked, a puff of ice escaping him as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

Stan was on the wrong side of the railing.

The metal bar gleamed beneath his hands and behind his back, growing all the more visible as his body draped forward, his eyes trained down towards the gaping maw of the waters below.

"Stan!" 

The word left him in a yell so loud it burned up his throat. It burst forth, a dam breaking inside of him as he rushed forward, arms outstretched. The fear didn't stop him this time, propelling him forward faster and faster, the clang of metal beneath his feet sharp and ringing in his ears as the light burned against his back-

Please, please- not now, not like this.

Stan didn't even flinch at his yell. Didn't look around, didn't try to speak. It was like he was a ghost again, forever trapped, forever stuck just watching events unfold with no power to help or hinder them. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how hard he tried, all he could do was slip between the cracks and hope against hope that he could reach him in time.

But not this time.

His hands closed around thin air, reaching out into the darkness where his brother had once been.

He couldn't quite believe it, couldn't quite comprehend everything that had happened within a blink of an eye. Even though he had seen it. Even though he had watched as his brother slipped further and further forward until his hands gave out from his own weight and momentum. Even though he had clearly seen his hand clasp around nothing instead of the fabric he had desperately tried to reach for-

Even after all of that, it still couldn't be true.

He couldn't look down.

Looking down made it real.

Looking down would prove the voices right.

It doesn't matter if you look or not. He's gone.

It hit him all at once, hollowing him out and swallowing him whole in the same suffocating motion.

Stan was gone.

He hadn't been quick enough.

He couldn't fix this.

He could hear screaming. Painful, choking, heaving sobs but they were distant, so very distant that it came as a shock when he realised they were his own. His knees collided with the metal floor with a jarring clang that he was sure should have hurt but he couldn't register it, not through the pain that had blossomed in his heart and was spreading through his bloodstream. Everything felt fuzzy, unreal- he was drowning all over again and there was no one there to help him, not this time, not ever again-

"No!"

And then the world went black.

The force of the lighthouse light blinking out of existence jolted him back upright. It felt like a tether had been cut, snapping what little threads of  hope he had left. But with it came something else- something real, something that had him struggling through the thick tar that his brain had become.

He wasn't kneeling like he thought he'd been, neither was there cold metal beneath him. Instead, his surroundings were soft and warm, wrapped around him protectively-

He blinked against the darkness, a shaky breath leaving him as it all came crashing down around him.

He was in bed. It was a dream- just a dream.

Ford choked on the thought, the image of his brother falling repeating over and over behind his eyes. He pushed his palms deep into his face, scrubbed his hands up and down, anything to push the thoughts away before the shuddering breaths became sobs, before the dam burst and he wouldn't be able to stop himself from suffocating under the weight of everything his mind had thrown up for him.

"Sixer?"

Light broke through the hysteria, washing over him like a warm salve. The voice was a haven, a beacon bringing him back to shore even as his neck cricked with the whiplash motion he made to look around.

"Stan?" 

His brother stood at his door, real and alive and full of concern and Ford couldn't wish for anything more in that moment, even though whatever showed on his face made Stan's shift even more in alarm.

"Yeah, it's me, buddy, bad dream?"

Ford gave a shaky nod, all that he could give around the tight lump in his throat. He stumbled up, feet catching on the blankets but none of it mattered, even as his brother reached out an arm in worry, stepping forward to catch him if he fell - and instead received an armful of his fearful brother, clinging tightly around him. He didn't care how it looked, or how childish he seemed- Ford just needed to know, just needed to keep hold of his brother for a little while longer until he was absolutely sure that there was no truth behind the nightmare.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, Sixer."

A distressed noise left his lips, the only response he could make as Stan ran an awkward but well meant hand across his back. He felt more than saw as his brother pushed him back towards bed, his shaking obviously a precursor to him even though he tried steadfast to push past it and cling all the tighter.

"Hey, don't worry, I'm not going anywhere, but lets just- work with me, Sixer."

The exasperated but endearing huff from Stan was music to Ford's ears as he let him get pushed back into a seated position and a blanket was draped haphazardly across his back. He knew it must be hard when he was refusing to break contact, but really, he was sure Stan would understand. Well, at least, when he actually felt up to opening his mouth again past the feeling of his brother slipping out of his grasp over and over again, which in turn made his throat shut further and his arms cling all the tighter to the real man beside him.

"Sixer?"

Ford huffed in response.

"You know I'm not going to let that thing near you again, don't you?"

Ford's eyes squeezed shut as a hand rubbed up and down his arm, trying for soothing but grating all at once at just how wrong he was.

"Never. I promise you it'll have to go through me-"

The dismaying sound that left Ford echoed louder than anything else, a punch to the gut as Stan's determined voice broke down what walls he had remaining.

"I mean it, Ford. It's never going to hurt you again. Never. You might not believe me- and I know after a rough nightmare, it's probably really hard to believe it, but I'm right here, and I'll always be right here to make sure it doesn't-"

"No. No, I- you can't."

Silence echoed at his words, Stan hushed beside him as if waiting for more. Ford swallowed as he pulled back, just enough for Stan to see him, still keeping a hand on him as if to keep the darkness that threatened to engulf him at bay.

"You can't. I don't- I don't want it to go through you."

The words felt childish and illogical even as he said them.

"...I'm not following, Sixer."

The words in response stayed tightly lodged at the back of his throat.

Stan moved until Ford was forced to look at him, his eyes concerned but also questioning. It was a look Ford remembered well, a look that said his brother was there to help, but also that he wouldn't be budging until he let him. 

"What was the dream about, bro? I can't help if I don't know."

"I-I..." Ford swallowed, eyes darting between his brother and the floor in equal measure. He pulled back ever so slightly, but Stan followed, a welcome presence that reassured him as much as it made him similarly feel foolish for the budding panic, for the painful nightmare that his mind had pulled forth, all from a silly throwaway comment that his brother had said once.

"Come on, Ford. You don't think I've had nightmares? I won't judge you, no matter what. You've been through a lot, it's no wonder-"

"It's not about that." He bit his lip as the words bubbled up, forcing himself to continue as Stan waited as patiently as he could. "It wasn't about- down there." 

"Alright. Still not judging at all. I mean I once had a nightmare all my exhibits came to life just to spite me for pretending they were real."

A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped Ford in response, his eyes narrowing as he gave Stan a disbelieving look.

"What? It was terrifying! Especially now Mabel's taken to adding glitter and paint to more of them. It made them even weirder- all melted and twisted." Stan scrunched up his face, fingers twisting his cheeks until Ford laughed again. "No one who mattered would come and help me because I'd told them all that it was all fake and they wouldn't believe me anymore." His hands dropped, his face soft and coaxing. "See? Even the weird nonsensical ones can be scary. It doesn't matter how ridiculous it sounds." 

Ford's laughter petered out as Stan watched him hesitantly. It was that look, the one just asking him to let him in and help that really broke the dam more than the story, that knowing soft gleam that said his brother would stand at his side no matter what happened. 

"It was- I just- This is hard."

Stan huffed on a laugh, gripping his shoulder tightly as he did so. "I know. Take your time."

Fords hand found Stan's on his shoulder, gripping it like a lifeline as he closed his eyes. "It was about you."

There was a soft pause, Stan's hand twitching in shock before tightening once more. 

"About me... Well, I mean- I get it if it was me from when we were kids or- you know what I mean. I messed up, I know I did. But that won't happen again-"

"God, no-" Ford's head snapped up, eyes finding Stan's quickly in a moment of panic. "No, that's not what I meant. That wasn't- how could you think that-"

"OK. OK. Sorry, I was just- just in case." Stan heaved out what Ford could only imagine was a relieved exhale, eyes closing for a second before finding Ford again. "I just hoped that, you know- after everything, you knew I'd never do anything to hurt you." 

"Of course I do." Ford groaned, scrubbing at his face again. "You think I'd rush over if-"

"Well, if I'd done something like given up for searching for you in your dream or something then- OK, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, yeah it's a little strange that you'd wanna be near me if it was something like that." Stan nudged at the spot where Ford had elbowed him with a soft smile, as if it was still better than whatever dreadful thing he had been thinking up for a moment.

Ford glared at him, a pout forming at the hurt his words had caused. "I already told you that it wasn't about that... place. Besides, I'd never think that. Not now, not after-"

"Ehh, doesn't always matter when it comes to nightmares. Again- wouldn't have judged you if it was that." Stan settled back down again, gaze appraising as his eyes flitted across him. "You feeling a bit better at least?"

Ford opened his mouth to retaliate before pausing at the question. He took a second to reassess, to take in that Stan's joking, strange nature had pushed the focus off the actual dream and into reality. Made it all seem less tangible, more distant- just a dream, just a nightmare, and not some strange twisted fate that he had been doomed to relive over and over.

He closed his eyes, huffing out a soft laugh. Of course Stan had been able to do all that without him even noticing. He opened his eyes again, Stan's face more serious and concerned again as he waited for a reply. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Stan's face split into a bright smile, hand tightening once again at his shoulder. "Good. That's good. I'll sit here as long as you need me, and until you actually feel up to talking. No rush at all."

"...You're right."

"Of course I am. What about?"

Ford choked on another laugh, shaking his head. "It was ridiculous. Nothing to... nothing to worry about."

"Just because it's ridiculous doesn't mean it's not worth talking about."

Ford bit his lip, eyes once again on his hands as they fiddled with the blanket between his fingers. It was childish. An awful dream brought on by nothing really- he didn't want Stan worrying about every little remark, just because his brain took them the wrong way.

"And hey- you said it was about me. So I mean- you gotta tell me now. Otherwise I'll go back to thinking the worst."

Ford groaned. "I already said-"

"Yeah well, until you prove me wrong, I'm going to assume you're lying."

The dam broke in response, the nightmare flowing straight out of his lips to land between them in a tangle of half thought out sentences that he wasn't even sure either of them could truly follow the sequence of.

"It was about sleepwalking, OK? You said about sleepwalking at the lighthouse- and I couldn't find you, no matter where I looked I couldn't find you. And I knew I had to, I knew something was wrong but- and you were falling and there was nothing I could do. I raced up to the lighthouse because it was the only place left and I found you but- you wouldn't answer me and it was like I was back to being a ghost all over again and you couldn't hear me- or-or see me and I couldn't help you at all- and you were falling." Ford's palms dug into his eyes again, as if trying to push the image away, muffling his words as they fell from his lips. "I know it's stupid. I know when you said you'd sleepwalked that you didn't mean that you'd walked out onto the balcony- or worse- but still it's where my brain went. It had to pick the worst case scenario because it could have happened and there would have been nothing I could do because up until recently- I wasn't able to help you. And that scares me. It scares me what could have happened while I wasn't here, and it scares me what could happen if I fall asleep and I don't check on you and-"

Ford stuttered to a halt, panting out in ice cold gasps.

The silence rang heavily between them as he struggled through the last words.

"I'm just... scared, OK? I was trapped for so long out there, I can't lose you, you know? I don't want the creature to have to 'go through you' to get to me because that scares me so much more than being stuck there again." He laughed again, a self deprecating noise that Stan didn't seem to like from the downward tilt to his lips, before running a hand through his hair. "See? Ridiculous. Just a nightmare. It's not something that happened, because you got me out of there, but I just can't get that silly conversation we had out of my head. Even though what my brain conjured up isn't what you meant by it at all." 

The silence continued to ring as he finished up, all the emotions that had fallen out past his lips, with the words, leaving him exhausted and hollow in their wake. He needed the reassurance now to fill him back up, to calm down all the sparking nerve endings and remind him that the horror that had been his life had ended now. That nightmares were just nightmares and that adventures were on the horizon, waiting for them, ready to help them run away from the darkness that had plagued them both for all these years.

...But Stan still hadn't said anything. No joke, no silly remark, or even a serious straight answer to knock away the remaining storm clouds the night had dredged up.

"Stan? You're meant to be proving the nightmare wrong right about now."

"Oh. R-Right..."

Ford waited, watched as Stan's mouth twisted open, before closing just as quickly. Observed quietly as his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes darted this way and that.

There was something familiar in the motions, a sinking solid lump finding it's way into Ford's stomach the longer the moment dragged.

"You can't do it, can you?"

"What?"

Ford's eyes widened as Stan refused to meet his gaze, his heart skipping a solid beat in his chest that left him feeling winded. "You can't give me an honest answer because you know the honest answer isn't what I want to hear." He raised a hand as Stan made a disagreeing noise. "Don't lie to me, Stan. You may have gotten better at lying but some things never change."

"I-" Stan swallowed, a scowl forming on his lips as he struggled to find the right words. "You're right I don't know what to say, because I don't really know what the dream was." Ford raised an eyebrow in disbelief, Stan still wouldn't make eye contact. "And I mean- what I've said before has already caused this mess in the first place so who knows if me talking now will add to that-"

"Stan."

"You don't have to worry, OK?" Stan finally looked at him, eyes determined and gaze unfaltering. "You just- you don't have to worry about that anymore. That was then. It hasn't even happened in a long time! Not properly anyway!" Stan groaned, shoulders slumping as he leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "I should never have told you in the first place, then you wouldn't be worrying about it. Besides it only ever really happened when I've fallen asleep in the lighthouse, and you're not about to let that happen anymore so-"

"You were on the wrong side of the balcony."

Stan's voice faltered, his body twitching ever so slightly as he met Ford's gaze once more. "You don't need to worry about it, Sixer."

Ford held his gaze. "You were on the wrong side of the balcony and you wouldn't answer me. You just kept leaning over and over as if something was calling to you from the water. And then you let go and you were falling-"

"I never fell, Ford. I'm right here."

Ford's eyes prickled as he stared intently at Stan, shaking his head ever so slightly. "That's not an answer, Stan."

Stan gulped, closing his eyes as his shoulders slumped further. "I never fell."

The soft, broken utterance did nothing to help Ford's nerves, no matter how reassuring Stan meant it to be.

He didn't even feel himself move, didn't sit there long enough to think about it. One moment Stan was confirming his worst fears and the next he was holding him tight to his chest amidst protests.

"Ford, come on- I promise, it wasn't that bad."

"Don't. Just don't."

Stan recoiled slightly at the words but Ford refused to let him, clinging tighter than ever. "Stan, this is a big deal, please don't pretend otherwise. You almost sleepwalked off a balcony."

"But I didn't-"

"What if you'd gone the other way? Down the stairs? You wouldn't have been able to stop yourself then, you'd have just-" Ford squeezed his eyes shut at the influx of images, all the 'what if's and 'could have been's that now had chance to run amok given the nightmares confirmation. "What if something happens on the boat and-"

"I'm sorry."

Ford sighed at the quick response, the hand on his back as he rested his head on top of Stan's. "You don't have anything to apologise for. It's not like you purposefully sleepwalked." 

"I shouldn't have told you."

"No, you should have told me sooner- and the whole story." Ford's words turned sharper, not angry, but disappointed. "What if this was all that creatures-"

"It was just sleepwalking, bro, don't make it more than it is." Stan's words returned in kind, blunt and to the point, a finality to them that Ford couldn't agree to.

"You think many other lighthouse keepers fall asleep and wander off the balcony of their lighthouse?"

"Probably not, I mean falling asleep on the job is a big no no for most jobs if I'm completely honest." Stan huffed when the answer didn't seem to be acceptable or appreciated. "Besides- not a real lighthouse keeper for a start. And for another, I was living two lives! Two jobs! An actual lighthouse keeper would actually get to sleep throughout the day." Ford paused at the words, though they didn't make him feel better, a reaction his brother seemed to get instantly as his voice grew soft and placating once more. "It makes sense, right? Don't need no monster locked at the bottom of the sea to help you sleepwalk when the only time you sleep is when you crash out."

"That makes it even worse." Ford felt more than heard as Stan shushed his pain filled words, his hand once again rubbing soothing circles into his back. "At least there'd be a reason if it was- but if it was just you- just a lack of sleep- then that's on me, Stan."

"What? No. No, no, no."

"It's true though! If you had been gone, if you had fallen, or slipped or-"

"I didn't though-"

"-All because you were so focused on getting me back that you weren't looking after yourself." Ford swallowed, talking over Stan until he gave in and shut his mouth with a snap. "Then it would have been my fault."

Stan blinked at him for a few moments before raising an eyebrow, mouth quirking upwards ever so slightly. "You say that as if I was looking after myself before all of this started."

"Stan."

"What? Newsflash- I wasn't. Probably fell asleep behind the wheel more times than I can count so you definitely can't put that on your shoulders. And besides, once I got here, at least I had a roof over my head and mostly edible food in the kitchen." Stan winced, as if he realised how that sounded a bit too late. "Not that, you know, it was a good thing that you vanished or anything-"

"Of course not. From what I saw, you might have got those things- along with an overwhelming sense of guilt that stopped you from actually getting the benefits of a lot of it."

Stan huffed at Ford's almost smirk in response, though it was a colder more cynical expression than his own. "Yeah, that too, I guess. But there is one thing I am actually right about in this whole mess of a conversation."

"Oh yeah? Do enlighten me, because so far I haven't heard anything like it."

"You don't have to worry about it from now on."

Ford snorted, eyebrows rising in disbelief. "Nope, still think I haven't heard anything that you're right about."

"No, listen. Whether you're right and it was the creature- which I still doubt- if we're off on our adventures, it can't do anything anymore can it? Stuck here, that is."

Ford hummed, face twisting thoughtfully. "I guess... but..."

"But if it's not. If it's just sleepwalking, it's still not going to happen again." Stan pulled away, pushing Ford back to sit opposite him, ignoring his protests at both his words and movements. "I was in a bad way, you're right. Mentally, physically- whatever you want to call it but we've already spoken about some of this and you know I don't want to go into all that, so lets leave that as it is. I wasn't sleeping. I was trying to live two lives." Stan took a deep breath, making sure he had Ford's attention before he continued.

Ford waited, impatient and concerned as to where the conversation was going.

"I don't have to do that anymore, Sixer."

Ford blinked, words caught in his throat.

He hadn't expected that.

"When we're off on our adventures, when we're sailing off across the seas, you'll be there to have my back." Stan smiled, a bright hopeful smile that Ford wanted to keep seeing, one that spoke of the future instead of the fear of the past, as he gestured wildly around them. "You know full well that if, or more aptly when, you dive headfirst into some new project and try to stop eating and sleeping I'll be there to make sure you do. And you'll do the same for me. I mean I don't see it happening, there's nothing out there that interests me quite like it does you-" Stan grinned at the hand shoving him in response to the teasing. "But I guess if I'm struggling to sleep, like I do some nights now because I'm not used to all this time I have now- you'll be there to force the issue, or keep me company until we both fall asleep." He shrugged, his words failing him as his hands wavered, twisting uselessly in the air. "I don't know, I guess what I'm saying is, there's no rush anymore. We both don't need to be going a mile a minute, we can relax and enjoy our adventures from now on, right? So... there shouldn't be any reason for any sleepwalking."

"Oh."

Stan swallowed, hands clasping together nervously now that he had no reason to keep moving them. "So, I mean it, when I say you won't have to worry about it anymore."

Ford smiled sadly. "I still will."

Stan huffed. "I know."

There was a pregnant pause, not as awkward as before but still not quite as restful as either of them wanted it to be.

"This feels like it's becoming a habit, you know."

"Hmm?"

Ford blinked as Stan stood up with a groan, stretching his back out as he did so.

He raised an eyebrow, nudging his head out of the door as Ford continued to stare at him in dazed perplexity. "Hot chocolate and whatever we can find on the TV?" A crooked smile twisted up the side of his mouth as the cogs in Ford's head finally caught up and he stood up, grabbing the blanket without a second thought.

"Sounds good to me."

"That's what I thought."

It didn't take long for them to bundle up on the sofa, some old period drama painting the room a soft glow that Ford somehow took comfort in as he curled up in the warm nest that now inhabited the living room, courtesy of a Mabel day earlier in the week. Or perhaps it was the fact that in his sleepy daze, his brother didn't feel the need for a filter and mumbled half comments about the show without embarrassment.

It was soft, peaceful.

Like the middle of the night should be.

"Hey, Ford?"

Ford hummed, eyes opening to slits as his head rested on Stan's shoulder.

"Just a thought. But do you really think I'd be able to sleepwalk through a cabin on a boat without hitting absolutely everything on route? Neither of us are exactly the tidiest of people."

Ford huffed, a puff of laughter escaping him at the mental image, feeling the rumble of laughter in response. "I guess that's true..." He hummed, sleepy and thoughtful. "I still think I might add bells to you though. Just to be safe."

Stan shook his head, still laughing as he settled back down. "I don't even know if you're joking or not."

"I guess you'll have to wait and find out."

There was a hum of agreement from beside him, amused and endearing. "Guess I will." Ford felt a tap on his elbow, calm and reassuring. "If it'll help you sleep better, I won't argue."

A strange sense of shame washed over Ford in that moment. He shifted uncomfortably, mouth open to apologise, or take it back. But Stan beat him to it.

"I still think there's a high chance I'd just knock myself out on the top of the bunk before I even got far though."

Ford gave another bark of laughter, not expecting the joke amidst the more serious words. He elbowed his brother, shaking his head in exasperation.

"What? It's bound to happen. That, or I'd hit a stack of books you left lying around- just like I used to. I've still got a scar from banging my head back then, do you remember?" Stan nudged him back, digging a finger into Ford's side to make him squirm. He grinned, satisfied as Ford gave up. "See? I'll break my neck long before any sleep walking does any damage."

The atmosphere soured almost instantly.

"Don't say that."

Stan winced. "Sorry. Didn't- you know what I meant."

"Yeah." Ford let his head fall back to his shoulder, closing his eyes again. The image of his brother on the wrong side of the railing was still painted on the back of his eyelids, though it shifted and slithered as he sat there. One moment it was the lighthouse railing, the next it was a boats, over and over again. A repeating history that was too close to comfort and all too real.

Stan's head came down to rest on top of his, a warm solid reassurance whether he intended it to be or not. He felt him sigh, the breath tousling his hair and the image wavered, falling away into the depths below, to be replaced by the smile his brother had given when they'd finally started to look at boats and decided which one they could see themselves living on.

He had finally gotten through to Stan that he couldn't let fear stop him- he just needed to remember the same held true for himself.

There was an amazing future waiting out there for them, he wouldn't let his worry take control.

Of course he would still worry, but right now, in the present, Stan was safe and sound beside him and the world was looking far less daunting than it had before.

"Hey, Stan?"

The words left him with little thought.

"Hmm?"

"You know I won't let anything bad happen to you, right?"

The arm around his shoulder tightened, hand clapping against his arm ever so slightly.

"Yeah, I know." The words were soft, endearing and tired as if Stan was slowly falling back to sleep. "You know I won't let anything hurt you again too, right?"

Ford smiled, pulling the blanket up around them tighter.

"Of course I do. You've made that very clear."

"Good..."

His smile grew as he felt Stan relax further, sure that he had looked after his brother and promptly falling asleep to the hum of the TV.

He closed his eyes, relaxing properly for what felt like the first time since their strange conversation. He felt himself drift, safe in the knowledge that if anything happened, he would be the first to know.

Stan had had a point, one that was settling his nerves in a way he could only hope would continue. From now on he could make sure that there were no more incidents. He could make sure his brother slept and that there was no chance of trouble wherever they ended up next.

Tonight was just the start.